Chapter 4 - Mack the Knife

Gladys Denker was standing in the kitchen, her ear was pressed against the door, leading to the living room. Driven by lethal desperation she tried to understand what was being discussed inside, but the wooden slide door was thick and the small group on the other side knew how to soften their voices.

Gladys was used to her boss's strange range of acquaintances. Artists, old friends, and obnoxious, rich charity ladies were regular visitors in this house, the Russian guy being the most exotic one of them all. He was whom she secretly called 'The savage'. Every time he was around there was a mess in the house and the smell of cold, Turkish tobacco hung in the curtains and the furniture. Of course, she tried to be discreet about it, but since the man was the opposite of discretion ignoring his presence wasn't easy.

How she would love to find out what this meeting inside was all about! All she knew so far was that Mrs Crawley was in a bad mood and the Russian constantly talking on his mobile phone - speaking Russian. Half an hour ago Mary Crawley, the uppity bitch, and her assistant Anna Smith had arrived.

Gladys had served coffee and sandwiches, but the silence while she was in the room had spoken volumes. Whatever it was that had caused this meeting was extremely important and top secret. These days everything that was labeled top secret was a threat to the family's finances and when there was trouble with money, Gladys had to fear for her job. The last thing she wanted was to be replaced by some low- paid cleaning help!

Annoyed Gladys pressed her ear once more against the door and intensified her effort to get to the bottom of the Crawley families latest crisis.

Charles Carson sighed when he returned to his desk from his early lunch break and found a pile of mail on it. Elsie Hughes who noticed his exasperated expression when she passed his open door smiled at him. "Don't worry, I've already sorted it for you. The mailman overlooked them when he came by the first time around."

"Thanks," he said and sank into his massive leather chair. Where would he be without Elsie? Sometimes she was the only one in this office who seemed to notice how unsatisfied he was. After the scandal around Patrick Crawley he had silently hoped to finally become a partner in the solicitor's office. He had worked his way to the top and he had the money to afford it, but Robert Crawley hadn't even considered him. Charles liked Robert, but sometimes he thought him too daft for his own good. Robert Crawley thought only someone who had studied in Oxford was worthy to write his name over the office door.

He checked the mail and realized there was really nothing that needed his special attention. Just one letter stood out. It was addressed with 'confidential' and, of course, Elsie hadn't opened it. There was no postmark or sender, which he always found unsettling. If he found the outer state of the letter strange, the contents stunned him. It was a collection of photographs printed on cheap photographic paper. Some of them were blurry, others disgustingly explicit - and so was the additional letter. Before he opened it he quickly shut the door to his office.

50.000 £ or they go public. More to follow. No coppers.

Again no sender, no other hint. Cold sweat appeared on his forehead and he felt how his chest tightened. He reached inside the drawer where he kept his emergency medicine.

The past was indeed never dead. It was not even past, he thought as he leaned back, wondering what to do next.

Outside his office Elsie stared at the door. Her worse fear was now confirmed. The spooked expression on his face when he shut the door was all she needed to know that something bad was happening. Since when did he close the door on her? She always thought if he trusted someone, it was her...

When Isobel arrived for their lunch date Dickie was already waiting for her. The restaurant near Covent Garden was small, but the food was French, superb, and the establishment rarely frequented by tourists.

He rose when he saw her and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

"I hope you weren't waiting for too long!" She said after she had sat down.

"Oh no, don't worry." He showed her his mobile phone. "I just had a call from Ada's doctor."

"And?"

"He's not very optimistic. Her latest breakdown was the worst so far and he doubts she will sufficiently recover from it. He suggests she stays at the facility for the time being."

"I'm sorry." She truly was. She knew the effect schizophrenia had not only on the patient, but on the whole family. Like every mental health issue it had the power to destroy family bonds and relationships as a whole.

Dickie shrugged. "I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. I fear the boys will take it badly. They still hope she will come back home soon."

Isobel sighed. Dickie's relationship with his sons had been strained for years, if not decades. Ada, an overbearing mother, had made sure from an early age that her sons never developed a close relationship with their father. The fact that Dickie often stayed in Oxford or abroad for various lectures and projects hadn't helped to establish any close bond with his sons.

"Sooner or later they will understand," Isobel tried to comfort him. "They won't have any other choice."

Dickie cracked a smile. "Your sense of logic is always refreshing."

The waiter arrived with the menus and Dickie ordered a bottle of her favourite white wine.

"What's the occasion?" Isobel asked surprised.

"I wanted to ask you something," Dickie said and pulled out his phone again. "Look at this."

Isobel looked at the screen and raised her eyebrows. "The weather forecast for Oxford?"

"It looks like it's going to be a sunny spring weekend. Care to join me? I'm invited to hold a guest lecture on Saturday morning. After that I'm free. We could spend the weekend and return to London on Sunday evening."

"We haven't done this before," Isobel said perplexed.

"And I think it's time we spend more time together… preferably not in your office."

"Oh, I agree." She remembered the dreadful experience with Richard Clarkson earlier. There was no one to blame but herself and she still wished she had cleaned the room more thoroughly after Dickie had left. Her apartment was off limits until Matthew had found a place of his own and Dickie's youngest son was still living at his house in Hackney. Both of his sons were unaware of their relationship and she and Dickie had agreed to keep it a secret as long as possible.

"So, what do you say? We would finally have some time for each other."

She smiled at Dickie. He was so sweet and keen while her enthusiasm to go to Oxford was limited.

"I like Oxford and it's been ages, but…"

"What is it?"

"The last time I went to Oxford was for a funeral," she explained. "It was quite a sad day."

"I see…"

She saw the disappointment on his face though he tried to hide it. She leaned forward and placed her hand on his. "It was almost eight years ago. Lavinia was Matthew's fiance. She died in a horrible car accident."

"I had no idea!"

"Yes, it was… horrific. Lavinia was such a sweet girl… so pretty, so kind." She smiled pensively while she tried to remember the young woman's face. To her dismay she had to realize that she had forgotten some of her features as well as the sound of her voice. How unkind time could be when it came to memories.

"Is that the reason Matthw hasn't married yet?" Dickie asked.

Isobel's answer was a shrug. "That's a complicated matter. To be honest, I'm not sure he truly wanted to marry Lavinia. The accident happened after an argument she had with Matthew at a party. She ran off and that was the last time Matthew saw her. The police said they had found cocaine in her car and in her bloodstream. Her father was completely devastated. I took her death rather hard. He never moved away from Oxford and lives completely isolated as far as I know." She shook her head. Reggie Swire was a man she had never truly understood and his daughter's untimely demise had made him all the more peculiar.

"All right. I see my idea is not one of my best. Why don't we settle for another trip the other weekend? I could ..."

"No, no! I think we should go to Oxford. It's time to make some new memories."

"Are you sure?"

"I am," she answered and squeezed his hand. A weekend away was just what she needed and Oxford wasn't so small that she risked running into Reggie Swire.

"So what exactly are we supposed to do?" Mary looked around one and her eyes came to rest on Igor Kuragin. Until today the man had been a stranger to her, an enigma, and after their acquaintance she doubted that would change. The first time she had laid her eyes on him was at a big garden party when her grandfather was still alive. Kuragin had been a loyal client to the solicitor's office for decades and that was all she knew about him. Her grandfather had been dead for over ten years now and most of his clients had been inherited by Robert. The name Kuragin was not one that was mentioned too often though. Robert was wary about connections to Russia in the present political climate and avoided closer contact. Why her grandmother of all people was the one who had obviously stayed in contact with the Russian ambassador was something Mary didn't really want to know. She had the inkling that asking this question was too embarrassing for Violet to be answered in all honesty.

"I need you to prove who killed my wife," Kuragin answered. "I owe it to her."

Mary nodded slowly. "I understand that. So I take it you know who killed her?"

"I know who's responsible for her death." Kuragin and Violet exchanged a glance. "Irina's murder was ordered by James Crawley and or his son Patrick Crawley."

Anna who stood near the window gasped and Mary swallowed, but she was a professional and quickly recovered from the shock."Why on earth should one of them be responsible for your wife's murder? What's the connection?"

"For many years I helped James Crawley to do business in Russia. I introduced him to the right people in the right places, made sure he got the invitations for dinner parties and so on. He's the one of the few members of your family who isn't a lawyer. He went into business and in the early nineties he was one of the first who realized how much financial potential was behind the iron curtain."

"And that was all you did?"

Kuragin nodded. "Politicians, oligarchs, business people. I only made the introductions."

"Of course."

Mary wondered if he ever received financial adjustment for his generous efforts, but she decided to reserve that question for later.

"But last summer James started to become greedy. He wanted my help to launder money he had made in Russia to avoid paying taxes. My answer was that he was asking one favour too many. I'm afraid he didn't take my rejection of his proposal too well.

"And you think he killed Irina for revenge?"

Kuragin shrugged. "I think he wanted to convince me to change my mind, but then his son got arrested for murder. I doubt that was part of the plan."

"Can you provide me with any evidence?" Mary asked.

Violet cleared her throat and placed a business card on the table. Mary crooked her eyebrow. "That's a card from James."

"It was among Irina's possession," Kuragin explained. "On the back of the card you'll find an address. The apartment belongs to James."

Mary didn't understand. "You think he left it on purpose?"

"No. It was hidden in Irina's jewellery box. I think James and Irina had some kind of connection."

"So, there's my place to start. We will need an investigator to handle this."

Mary looked at Anna who nodded. "I think I know the person for the job." Mary replied with a knowing smile.

"Is he trustworthy?" Igor asked.

"Better," Mary answered. "He owes us."

"And one more thing…" Suddenly Kuragin seemed solemn. "About the dead Mister Pamuk… He's the son of a friend of mine."

"He died of natural causes," Mary said, but she felt how the blood was drained out of her cheeks. "I can assure you of that."

Igor nodded. "I know he had a heart failure as a child. I don't want to lie to his parents."

"You won't have to." Mary broke off the eye contact, picked up her purse, and turned to Anna. "We have to go."

She placed a kiss on Violet's cheek. "I'll talk to you later."

"Take care of you!" Violet said and gently caressed her granddaughter's cheek."It seems too many people are dying these days."

James Crawley stood in his office in one of the upper levels of the London Shard and looked upon the city as if it were his kingdom. In the background the song 'Mack The Knife' performed by Frank Sinatra (there was only one Frank after all) filled the big, white room. The line that always got to him was 'There's a cement bag's dropping down. That cement's just for the weight, dear…'

He knew that didn't happen to the young man they fished out of the Thames this morning. He had recognized the face instantly when the news had popped up all across the country's morning news. Kemal Pamuk had been a close associate of Igor Kuragin. One the Russian only trusted with his most delicate missions. James wasn't responsible for his death, so who was and what would the Russians do next?

In retrospect Irina's death was most unfortunate. James feared he had started a war that would turn out to be a mistake. But how could he know his stupid son had taken matters into his own hands when he silenced another accomplice?

James turned off the music and picked up the phone. He needed to talk to Igor Kuragin.

*****tbc*****

Thanks for reading. So, who is Carson's blackmailer? What is isobel's connection to Reggie Swire? And what's the animosity between Kuragin and James Crawley?